


Brought You to Me

by ShinyMilotics



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Affairs, Alcohol, Drama, F/F, Femslash, Infidelity, Lesbian Sex, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Sexting, Smoking, mercymaker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-11-01 16:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinyMilotics/pseuds/ShinyMilotics
Summary: “I didn’t order this,” she said.“The lady in blue did for you, miss,” the bartender said, gesturing to the left end of the bar with his head.Angela followed his gaze and scanned the people in that direction until she saw a woman seated by the edge of the bar, smiling in her direction.-Angela meets a beautiful stranger at a pub in Germany.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this has been a WIP forever and posting it is way overdue. I'm so sorry. still, it felt so good to write my favorite ship again after so long.

Angela hadn’t been to Munich in a long time.

She had been called to attend, as a guest of honor, the opening of a week-long biomedical engineering symposium at the university. Surely it wouldn't be much different from any of the several events like these she attended each year. There would be speeches, photos, handshakes, maybe some appetizers. All quite standard.

Knowing full well that once it was finished, Angela would rush back to her hotel room and dive head-first back into work, Reinhardt decided it’d be good to step in with a little intervention before she left the Watchpoint.

“Oi, Ziegler!” he’d called to her in the mess hall.

Angela hardly had time to put down her mug before a massive arm had draped itself around her neck and over her shoulders.

“That would be me,” she responded, a bit taken aback.

“You’re going to Munich, yeah? Fancy doctor stuff?”

“Something like that. But yes, I’m going to Munich,” she said.

“Well, it isn’t the most fun place in the world if you’re there alone, but!” he suddenly paused, like he was about to present a grandiose idea.

“There’s this terrific pub right near the city center. Been going there for decades- it never disappoints. Great beer, great atmosphere, they even serve these these amazing little croquettes as appetizers,” he made a little _mmm_ motion with his fingers. “My point is, you’ve got to stop by and have a drink there once you’re done with all the yappy yappy stuff. Clear your head a bit!”

Angela paused. “I don’t know if I’ll have time,” she said.

“Oh, come now, Angela,” Reinhardt interjected. “We both know that’s not true. You just want to hole yourself up in some hotel room and work. You deserve a little break every now and then.” He smiled at her, warm and kind like he was wont to. “The place is worth it. If for no other reason, have a beer there in my place.”

Oh, he was doing that thing. The eyes and the smile and the voice. He was like a puppy. A very, very large puppy.

“Oh, alright, alright,” Angela relented. “If you insist.” She gave him a small hug, which he returned with his usual back-crushing force. “You’ll send me the place’s information?”

He made finger guns. “You know it!”

 

 

* * *

 

The symposium had been, indeed, about as standard as they came. At this point, Angela would be lying if she said they didn’t bore her to tears the majority of the time. She felt guilty for it, too. She probably ought to feel something other than tired indifference towards something to which she was a guest of honor. Nevertheless, it didn’t change the fact that she maybe-sort-of found herself looking forward to paying a visit to the pub Reinhardt had gone on so much about.

She was back in her hotel room by late afternoon. The few remnants of sunlight cast a pleasant, bright orange hue to the space. Stepping inside and chucking her briefcase onto the bed, she noticed something she had failed to the previous night - she had quite a nice view of the city from her balcony. The enduring Bavarian architecture, offset by some abundant greenery and the Alps in the distance, was quite lovely.

A half-smile opened up on her face. How often, nowadays, did she find the time to take into account such small yet beautiful details? Work had consumed her life, but she had stopped taking issue with it long ago. She hardly knew any other way.

After an unusually long shower, she found herself wrapped in a towel, staring at her open suitcase for a long period of time. For all her great skill at making last-second decisions that could and did save lives, Angela really was atrocious at deciding when it came to clothes. She was just going to the pub by herself. Who was she trying to impress?

It took much deliberating for her to finally settle on a white halter top, black pencil skirt, tights, and heeled ankle boots. It occurred to her that she really ought to go shopping -- she hardly owned anything that could be considered appropriate for a drink at the pub anymore.

She hastily applied some standard “I-actually-care-what-I’ll-look-like” makeup: gold-brown eyeshadow and black eyeliner; put her hair up in the usual elegant ponytail, and was on her way.

The place ended up being more pleasant than she’d expected. It seemed that all Reinhardt’s enthusiastic advertising had been warranted after all. It was cozy, the dim lighting reflecting warmly on the framed vintage paintings. There was even a semi-abstract portrait of what seemed to be two women in an embrace, with a flowing cursive caption at the bottom - some flowery quote about love. She couldn’t help but smile, taking a sip of the beer she’d ordered. That, too, was very good (for a beer, anyway - she wasn’t much of a fan), and so were the little breads that Reinhardt had mentioned. She decided she was glad that she’d taken up his suggestion.

Even so, going to the pub by oneself was a lonesome thing. Looking around, she noticed that virtually everybody else was accompanied.

She scoffed to herself at that thought, sipping the beer again. As if she wasn’t used to doing everything alone.

Not fifteen minutes had passed, though, when the bartender slid to her a tall glass filled with a cloudy orange-red liquid, and decorated by a strawberry at the rim. It had a long, red straw, too. Angela raised an eyebrow at it.

“I didn’t order this,” she said.

“The lady in blue did for you, miss,” the bartender said, gesturing to the left end of the bar with his head.

Angela followed his gaze, and scanned the people in that direction until she saw a woman seated by the edge of the bar, smiling in her direction. She wore a dark blue blazer, had long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, and was looking at Angela with piercing hazel eyes. She briefly raised her glass of red wine as they made eye contact.

Angela immediately flushed red, clumsily pulling her glass toward herself. Now this, she had not been expecting. How many years had it been since a woman had bought her a drink? How many years had it been since she’d even gone to a place where such a thing could happen? She was far too out of practice.

What to do now? Focus, Ziegler. A woman ordered you a drink. Is she attractive? Oh, yes, _very._ Is this be a good idea? Probably not, given the circumstances. What the hell, though. She was lonely, and it didn’t seem like anybody around had recognized her.

With a bit of hesitation, she picked up her glass of mysterious orange-red Something, stood from her stool, and made her way towards the end of the bar.

Up close, the woman was not just attractive. She was gorgeous, infuriatingly so. Clad in that blazer, dress pants and heels (and fuck if Angela wasn’t weak for a woman in a suit), this stranger was a vision. It was equal levels of exciting and intimidating.

“Hello,” said a voice that was more a purr than a whisper. “You speak English, yes?” The voice also, it seemed, had a velvet-smooth, unmistakably French accent.

Angela cleared her throat. “Yes I do.” She paused to sip her drink. Oh, whatever this was, it was good. Sweet with a touch of citrus. “And French, if it helps.”

The woman gave a slight chuckle. _“Bien,”_ she said, switching languages. “I am relieved. That will make this much easier.”

“Not confident in your English?” Angela said.

“Mm, it is more that I find speaking it to be an annoyance.” She sipped her wine.

The impression that Angela got then was this woman probably found many things to be an annoyance. “And we couldn’t have that, now could we?” she said, hoping she sounded playful.

To her relief, the woman smiled. “No.” She extended her free hand towards her. “Amélie,” she said.

Angela took her hand and shook it, flustered. “Angela.”

Amélie had slender fingers, and remarkably soft hands. Angela had shaken countless hands in her lifetime, and seldom had she encountered ones so soft.

“Pardon me, Angela,” Amélie interluded, and god, her name sounded good being said in that voice, that accent. “But are you Swiss?”

Angela smiled wide. “Is it that easy to tell?”

“For me, perhaps. I’m quite good at identifying accents.” Amélie said. She was smiling too - a mischievous-looking little grin. Angela liked it.

“And you are from…?” Angela inquired.

“Annecy. But I have been living in Paris for some years now.”

Angela pondered that for a moment. She was not the greatest fan of the City of Love, but Amélie seemed like the type who would fit in there. “Ah,” she said. “What brought you there?”

“Work,” Amélie answered. “Annecy is lovely, but limited if you work in my field.” The way she said it made it sound like she may have worked in something secretive.

“What field is that?” Angela said, her curiosity piqued. She hoped she didn’t come across as prying.

Amélie grinned again. “I’m a dancer,” she said. “Ballet. That’s what I came here to do. It was the last stop of my company’s mid-year tour.”

So the woman that had bought her a drink at the bar was not only beautiful and good with words, but also a professional dancer. Angela almost started to expect a camera crew to suddenly appear and inform her that she was on one of those ridiculous prank shows from the early 2000s.

“That- _ahem_ , that is impressive, Amélie,” she managed. Amélie made a face that seemed to say, ‘of course it is. And I’ve heard it before.’

“And you?” Amélie asked, not responding to what Angela had just told her. “What is it you do?”

Uh-oh. Now that could be a problem. She wouldn’t want to lie, of course, but she also couldn’t reveal too much. She’d been so relieved that Amélie didn’t seem to know who she was. Better to go just go with,

“I’m a doctor. My specialty is nanotechnology.”

Amélie’s eyes went wide for a short moment. “Well,” she said with a breathy chuckle, “I certainly feel outdone.”

“Oh, please,” Angela quickly cut her off. “You shouldn’t say that. The world needs artists just as much as it needs scientists. And dancing requires no less talent than what doctors do. Just a different sort of talent.”

“If you say so, _chérie_.” Amélie smiled then, and Angela felt something twist inside her. All these years, and she would still get _premature ventricular contractions_ when a beautiful woman said the right words.

“Do you like it?” Amélie said, a bit suddenly, pointing to Angela’s glass with her eyes.

“A-ah, yes,” Angela scrambled a bit. “Yes. It’s— very good. Thank you.”

Angela thought for a moment. She felt embarrassed that she even felt the urge to ask, but if she didn’t, it was going to drive her crazy for the rest of the night, and then some.

“You...What made you buy me a drink?” she said, before the rush of courage could fade.

Amélie looked at her, seeming somewhat pensive. “Are you not used to women buying you drinks, Angela?”

Absolutely not, Angela thought. Much less women like Amélie. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been to a bar outside of the occasional outings with other Overwatch members.

“Admittedly not,” she said. “And I’m surprised that you’d say something like that.”

Amélie laughed, softly. “You are very modest, Angela.” She stepped a little closer. “I bought you a drink because I am bored, and in need of company, and you are beautiful. There is a certain _je ne sais quois_ about you. I saw it even from a distance.”

The way her voice sounded when she said that was like liquid gold. It made Angela pause, and then laugh. “That’s— that is quite the line.”

Amélie cocked an eyebrow upwards, smirking. “Line? I don’t know what you mean.” She laughed a bit as she glanced briefly at her phone. She made a face at it for a fraction of a second.

“Angela,” she said, placing the phone back in her blazer’s pocket. “Would you care to step outside with me for a moment?”

“Oh?” Angela watched as Amélie opened up an elegant black clutch, reached in, and produced a lighter and pack of cigarettes.

“I need a bit of air is all. Don’t worry, I won’t be offended if you say no,” Amélie said.

“No, no. I’ll go with you,” Angela quickly said. She watched Amélie’s puzzling little smile as they stood up and began to make their way out.

Angela angrily and loudly chastised herself in her head as she followed Amélie to the exit, because yes, she was absolutely staring at her ass. _This is absolutely unfair_ , she thought, because she was thirty, hadn’t slept with anyone or gotten anywhere close to it in years, and this woman’s derrière in those pants looked like it came straight out of an ad for designer jeans. She cursed under her breath.

“We will be right back,” Amélie said to the pub’s doorman. Angela thought for a fleeting moment of how lovely Amélie’s accent was when she spoke English.

Amélie leaned against the brick wall, resting a high heel against it, as she elegantly light her cigarette. Angela fought the urge to squirm as she watched those beautiful lips wrap around the cigarette and then curl into an “o” when she blew out the smoke. God, she was hopeless.

She must have looked pretty stupid as Amélie turned to look at her, a rather cheeky grin on her face. “I doubt I need to ask if you would like one.”

“Actually,” Angela said, taking a step closer. “I do. May I?”

Amélie’s eyebrows curled upward a bit as she offered her clutch for Angela to take a cigarette from. Angela was aware of how this must have looked, but surely Amélie wouldn’t judge her, being a smoker herself. With how giddy she was feeling around the woman, she was very much grateful for the relief a cigarette would offer.

Amélie took the lighter with her free hand and pressed down on it, inviting Angela to lean in with her clever eyes. Angela’s heart raced as she did so, trying to focus on sucking in while being dangerously close to this woman who was slowly sending her into a gay panic. She eagerly welcomed the initial wave of calm that washed over her with the first drag.

“Well,” Amélie said, clearly amused. “I must say I am surprised. I haven’t seen a doctor who smokes in quite a while.”

“It’s not nearly as uncommon as you think. Those of us that do just hide it well. It’s the sensible thing to do.”

“Hmm. And why not hide it from me, then?” Amélie said.

A rather complicated question, but Angela tried not to think about it. “I’m not sure,” she answered simply. “You just have that sort of effect.”

“Effect?”

“Mhm. That makes it easy to share things.”

Amélie smiled, catlike. “Is that a compliment, doctor?”

Angela gave a smile of her own. “If you want it to be, yes.”

Amélie didn’t give a verbal response. They smoked quietly for a while. Angela took turns gazing at the ground, at the street around, and at Amélie. Out here in the city lights, she was somehow even more beautiful. Her black hair seemed to hide some dark blue within it - perhaps it had been dyed before?

“What is it?” Amélie said, breaking the silence. She must have caught her looking; though perhaps staring may have been a better word.

“Mm, it’s nothing. This is just so unexpected,” Angela said.

“Oh? What is?”

“This,” Angela vaguely gestured with her fingers holding the cigarette. “I thought that I would sit down, drink a beer or two, and then leave. Nothing more. I didn’t think that-” Angela paused, suddenly aware that she probably sounded like a girl half her age.

“That what?” Amélie urged, her head tilted slightly to the side.

“That a beautiful woman would buy me a drink, and invite me to step outside for a smoke.”

Amélie chuckled. The sound was soft, humming, musical. Every little thing the woman did came across as a practiced act of flirtation, but also somehow completely natural. It was so puzzling.

“You’ve surprised me again, Angela. I would assume that you would be very much used to such things.”

Now it was Angela’s turn to quietly laugh. “I’m most definitely not.” She cleared her throat. “And, Amélie?”

“Yes?”

“I’m really growing fond of how it sounds when you say my name.” There, she said it. Surely she was entitled to a bit of a line of her own, when Amélie had given her so many.

She expected it to earn another laugh, but instead Amélie just hummed. “I quite like the way you say my name too, _chérie_.” She took a final drag of her cigarette, then tossed the butt of it on the ground, and put it out with her boot.

Angela blushed despite her very real efforts to contain herself. Clearly no amount of trying would be enough. She steeled herself and finished her cigarette too.

And then before she knew it, Amélie was closely beside her, taking her hand. “Come,” she whispered, soft. “Let’s go back inside.”

Angela nodded quietly, hoping it wasn’t too painfully obvious that her insides were on fire.

Soon they were sitting by the bar again, this time quite a bit closer together. They each worked on a glass of chardonnay, this time courtesy of Angela. She’d insisted on it.

As it turned out, there was much more to Amélie than her physical allure and her clever mouth. She was so, so interesting, and a remarkable conversation partner. She made Angela laugh honestly and fully. She was full of stories to tell - stories of ballet drama, of bizarre travel experiences, of successes and failures in cuisine. And Angela, of course, couldn’t let herself fall behind. She shared as much she could whilst being mindful that she shouldn’t say anything that might give away the specifics of her livelihood. Between great conversation and sips of wine, the hours escaped them.

Angela couldn’t even tell when it had started, but now there was a band playing some very pleasant live music, and a sizable crowd of the pub’s patrons had gathered at the little empty space in front of the stage, dancing. She glanced at them for just a second, and then Amélie was taking her hand for the second time that night.

“Come,” she said. “Dance with me.”

Angela panicked a little bit, because she genuinely could not remember the last time she had danced with a woman. Thankfully, she’d had enough drinks to lower her silly inhibitions, and she was pathetically wrapped around Amélie’s finger. She took that hand and let herself be led to the edge of the little crowd.

Soon she was standing closely in front of Amélie, and watching as her lithe dancer’s body moved in perfect rhythm with the music. With her hips swaying to and fro, with her hands occasionally running through her own neck and shoulders and waist, she may as well have been Aphrodite herself. Realizing she would have little choice, Angela went for boldness, placing both of her hands at Amélie’s hips and moving alongside her. Amélie’s arms came to Angela’s shoulders, and they were dancing together, like they’d known each other for a long time and hadn’t just met a few hours prior.

With every little movement, they came closer. The wine, the cigarette, the music and the warmth of the place combined to create the most pleasant rush in Angela’s mind. Her insecurities and hesitations had been thrown out of the window, and she followed Amélie’s knowing lead as they swayed together. It wasn’t long before their hips and abdomens were snugly close, before Angela could feel the heat radiating from Amélie’s body.

And it wasn’t long before Amélie was taking Angela’s face in both of her hands, drawing her in and bringing her into a searing kiss.

Angela didn’t even think. She took the plunge, parting her lips and surrendering her mouth to Amélie. They’d spent too much of the night waiting, wanting, drowning in a sea of sexual tension. There were no slow or tentative movements. As their bodies grinded together, their mouths clashed with tight liplocks and winding tongues and teeth biting into soft flesh. Angela groaned into Amélie’s kiss as their embrace became harsh and desperate.

At some point they had stopped dancing altogether. They held tightly onto other and just kissed, long and deep. Hands smoothed down, passing through hips and waists and touching everywhere. Some part of Angela’s right mind thought that they were probably being too intense for the little dancefloor of a pub, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not when she was holding Amélie’s ass and her tongue was deeply in her mouth.

When Amélie pulled away it was sudden and rough, and both of them were almost out of breath. Angela hardly remembered where she was. “ _Mon dieu_ ,” she heard Amélie mutter under her breath, gathering herself.

Angela was only just coming back to reality when Amélie pulled her in and kissed her again, briefly this time. When they separated, she pressed her forehead to Angela’s.

“Angela, please,” she pleaded. She sounded exasperated. “Come back to my hotel with me.”

God, Angela wanted to say yes. She felt like she’d never wanted anything so much in her life; but even so, her never failing common sense was screaming at her. She was here on business. She would risk Amélie’s privacy and even her safety by doing such a thing.

“Amélie, I—”

 _“Please,”_ Amélie said again, louder. “I want you so much, Angela. I cannot stand another second.”

Angela groaned in spite of herself. She took Amélie’s chin in her hand and brought her lips into her own again. They exchanged another frantic kiss, and then all too quickly she pulled away. She took Amélie’s hand in an iron-like grip, and led her away from the crowd and towards the stools where they were previously sitting.

Amélie watched, stunned, as Angela waved at the bartender, said some words in German, and handed him several Euro bills. Amélie couldn’t even protest before Angela pulled her in again, kissed her neck, and then breathed into her ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

Angela gave Amélie her hand, and let herself be led out. She watched as Amélie signaled for a cab, then swiftly scooted into the sleek car beside her. She could hardly make out the address that Amélie told the driver in that velvet-smooth, accented English. They sat closely together for the short drive.

The very second that the door to Amélie’s luxury hotel room was closed behind them, they were onto each other again. They kissed with tongue and teeth whenever they were not otherwise occupied with desperately tugging off the other’s clothing. Angela found herself still shoved against the door when they were both in their underwear and Amélie was touching her all over, kissing and biting and leaving marks on her neck, her collarbones, her shoulders.

She gasped her name, grasped a fistful of her ponytail as Amélie claimed her. She felt the hot sting of every bite right in her core, each one bringing her closer to the point where she would gladly get on her knees and beg for Amélie to have her way with her.

Fortunately, she did not need to beg. Amélie was fierce and insistent as she took Angela’s arm and dragged her to the king-sized bed with her. Moans and gasps escaped them as their limbs wrapped around each other and skin touched skin. Angela wanted to bite as much as Amélie as doing to her, but each time she was about to, Amélie grabbed her and pinned her down again, staring her down with a wicked look and then touching her in ways that made her feel like she was in heaven.

When Angela sat up to reach behind Amélie and unclasp her black lace bra, Amélie extended her arms above her head and presented her bare chest to Angela. Pert, hardened nipples stood out from her beautifully tanned skin, and Angela couldn’t resist diving in and worshipping them. And then Amélie did the same to her. Gestures were made and answered until they were laying on the bed in opposite directions and Amélie was hovering atop Angela and they were both grasping and sucking at each other’s breasts. Heavy, wet sounds filled the room.

“Angela, Angela, _mon dieu,_ ” Amélie was moaning, and Angela answered her with equally worshipful calls for her name.

White, crumpled sheets soon surrounded their fully naked bodies as they desperately held on to each other. They held hands as they moved, as fire took over their bodies, as the heat of skin against skin and slick lips gliding against each other grew and intensified until nothing else existed.

“Amélie, oh,  _mein gott_ , Amélie,”

“Angela, Angela, _Angela,_ ”

Words and sounds melted together as they reached their peak, as orgasms more powerful than any they’d ever felt before took over their bodies and sent them to a place of white light and warm skin and blissful happiness.

As the high dissipated, they laid onto the pillows facing each other and kissed as much as their labored breaths would allow them. Angela stared into Amélie’s perfect eyes before she succumbed to sleep.

-

-

-

-

She didn’t know what time it was when something pulled her from her deep, dreamless slumber. She stirred a bit and rubbed her eyes, turning to look for Amélie, only to find empty, crumpled white sheets. She concentrated for a moment, until she was able to make out the nearby sound of water running down a sink and a soft voice speaking French, probably into a phone.

“Yes, I’ve just returned to my hotel room. The after-party went until late - you know how these things are. Yes. I know. I am too, _mon cher_. I- yes. Alright. Please call me me as soon as y- Mm. Alright. I love you too. Good night.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to break the second part up into a few more chapters

Angela felt her blood go cold. The sensation started in her head then radiated throughout her entire body. She took a deep breath, trying to control her body’s urge to shake.

Of course. Of fucking course. Who did she think she was kidding? It had all been too good to be true from the start, and she was an absolute idiot to not realize it. She sat on the bed, naked save for the white sheet partially wrapped around her, listening to the faint sound of running water and attempting to control her emotions.

When the water stopped, she heard footsteps coming towards her. She turned to see Amélie walking back into the bedroom, naked and torturously beautiful. Angela bit down hard on her lip.

“Oh, _chérie_ , forgive me. Did I wake you?”

Chérie. She’d just called someone else exactly that over the phone, only it was the male variation. She really thought, and rightfully so, that Angela was clueless.

“No, I’m just a light sleeper. Are you all right?” Angela hoped that her voice didn’t give away how she was feeling, but by the subtle look of skepticism on Amélie’s face, it probably did.

“Yes, I’m fine. I got a bit overheated, so I took a quick shower.”

She was about to slip under the sheet and scoot close to Angela’s body. It became too much. Angela couldn’t possibly have Amélie lying naked beside her after what she’d heard. She decided it was pointless to stop pretending.

“Who was that on the phone?”

Amélie’s eyes widened a bit. She looked alarmed, but just that. Alarmed. Not cornered or panicked. Not like someone who had just been caught with their hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

“Your boyfriend?” Angela pressed.

Amélie’s face twisted into a scowl. “No.”

“Then who?”

“My husband.”

Oh, wow, Angela thought. She was married, huh. So now, on top of everything else shitty about her, she was also a homewrecker. Wonderful.

“You’re not wearing a ring.”

Amélie turned around and crawled to the right side of the bed. She reached on to the nightstand and grabbed a brown leather eyeglass case. She sat next to Angela again and opened the case, revealing a pair of elegant reading glasses, as well as something small wrapped in a soft kerchief. Amélie took it and unfolded the fabric to produce an expensive-looking diamond wedding ring. The sight of it made something twist within Angela’s chest. Her eyes went back to Amélie.

“Why?”

Amélie scoffed, re-wrapping the ring and putting it back in its place. “That’s a very complicated question, don’t you think?”

“Well I want to know why. Why would you do this t—”

“Oh, stop,” Amélie interrupted, irritated ( _she_ was irritated?). “I know exactly what you are going to say, and it’s pointless. And don’t presume to know anything about me, because you don’t.”

“I know enough,” Angela snapped. She covered her body with the sheet, and looked around the room, searching for her clothes. Unsurprisingly, they were scattered all over the floor. She sighed, and Amélie watched her as she stood up and began to gather them. Her body language gave away how self-conscious she suddenly felt.

“You are going, then?” Amélie said.

Angela angry-laughed. “Yeah, forgive me for not wanting to stay and cuddle. I don’t usually stick around after I find out the woman I spent half the night with is married. God, where are my...” She turned, somewhat frantically looking around the room, searching for her panties.

“Here.” Amélie tossed them to her, and Angela nearly jumped. Why was it, Angela wondered, that Amélie seemed to want to make an already shit situation worse.

A tense silence loomed as Angela got dressed, and Amélie just sat on the bed, watching. Angela turned to look at her as she pulled her top’s halter over her head.

“I still want to know why,” she said.

Amélie raised an eyebrow. “Do you, though? Because it seems to me that nothing I say will make you feel any better, _chérie_.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You don’t really want to hear a sob story about my life and my marriage, do you?”

Angela thought about it for just a second. Honestly, part of her kind of did. It likely wouldn’t make her feel any less bad about what had happened, but it might give her at least some sense of closure. Still, she answered,

“No.”

“Would you rather I have lied to you? Kept my ring hidden and told you it was my brother on the phone?”

 _“No.”_ Definitely not. Angela had always preferred the truth, even when it was inconvenient or painful.

“What do you want, then?”

Despite Amélie’s infuriatingly indifferent tone and expression, something about her made Angela feel that she wasn’t as unaffected by all of this as she clearly hoped to convey.

“I don’t know. But I need to leave.”

Amélie nodded. She stood and followed Angela as she made her way towards the door. Angela put her hand on the doorknob, but stopped and looked at Amélie again before she turned it. Even like this - with messy hair and without makeup and frowning, she really was beautiful. Too many emotions hit Angela all at once, and she took a breath, knowing that she needed to get out of there or she would cry.

“Well… good night, then, I suppose,” she said, her voice strained.

Amélie looked at her with eyes that were suddenly soft, like a puppy dog’s.

“Good night, Angela.”

Angela turned the doorknob and left, biting hard on her bottom lip in a continued attempt to stop hot tears from coming down.


	3. Chapter 3

Angela felt a tightness in her chest that was uncomfortable-bordering-on-painful during the silent cab ride back to her own hotel. There was a sour taste in her mouth, too, and she craved another cigarette. The sun was just beginning to rise in the East, and Angela glared at it. She fought the urge to bite at her nails.

She was married. The beautiful woman she had met, flirted with, kissed, and made love to, was married.

... _Made love?_ Seriously? Was she even hearing herself? She was calling sex with a one-night-stand, _making love_ now? God, she had been alone for too long.

To think that she had actually revelled in the post-coital bliss. That she had basked in the afterglow and smiled stupidly to herself as she and Amélie held each other. That she’d loved how Amélie’s soft skin felt against her own, loved the scent of her fading perfume. That she’d thought, even for a moment, _I never want to get up._

For someone who had spent years on the battlefield stitching up wounded soldiers and civilians alike, she still had a pathetically soft heart. She may have been thirty, and experienced countless horrors firsthand, but somehow she still had buried somewhere deep within her, the romantic and idealistic teenager that she never got to be.

She scoffed at herself. The sun was just rising, but she wished there would be alcohol in her room’s mini bar waiting for her.

When the cab stopped, she handed the driver a 20 Euro bill and told him to keep the change. She grabbed her clutch and begrudgingly made her way to the elevators. She must have looked pretty stupid, still wearing her bar outfit and heels and some remnants of makeup. Talk about a walk of shame.

When she stepped into the room, a robotic voice greeted her from the speakers. “Good morning, Doctor Ziegler. Welcome back.” The AI was only being polite, but still she rolled her eyes at it. She flung her clutch on to the bed, and then her own body.

She stared at the ceiling for a while, replaying the events of last night in her head, and then thinking about what was ahead. She had two more days of the symposium to attend, and then would be flying back to Gibraltar the following morning. The event would keep her from thinking about Amélie, but it would probably be awful to spend another two nights by herself. She chided herself in her head, over and over. Stupid. Childish. She was supposed to be a grown woman, and yet here she was, letting a one-night-stand gone bad send her into some kind of existential crisis.

“Fuck this,” she said to herself, making the effort to stand up. With movements that were almost robot-like, she stripped out of her outfit, took a quick shower, and slipped into a bathrobe. She went to her suitcase and pulled out her holopad. After all, during times like this, what else would she do but work?

As the Overwatch logo manifested in front of her upon switching on the holopad, she remembered that she probably had multiple unanswered messages from coworkers on her phone. She let out a brief sigh of frustration before standing up to retrieve her clutch from the bed. She reached into it to find her phone, and spotted an unfamiliar piece of paper. Furrowing her brow, she withdrew it, and her heart nearly stopped when her eyes scanned the words written in elegant cursive.

“Angela,

I will slip this into your bag as you get dressed. I know that you probably do not want anything to do with me, and if so, I will completely respect your wishes. However, on the off-chance that you will hear me out, I would like to explain myself to you. Perhaps it is selfish, but I hope that we may, at the very least, part ways as friendly acquaintances. I leave the decision to you. My phone number is below.

Amélie.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep expanding this story in my head every time i add another chapter, but i've mapped out how i want it to go now. thank you so much for your support so far ❤

Angela spent the rest of the early morning working. When there was an hour and a half until day two of the symposium started, she reluctantly put down her holopad, got changed, and worked on applying her simplistic makeup. Every minute that passed, the fought the urge to glance at her phone. She’d registered the number that Amélie wrote in the note, but told herself that she would not contact it. It was the better and more sensible thing to do. She didn’t need to be involved with anyone at the moment, _much less_ a married woman. She took longer than usual to apply her eyeliner, what with her hand shaking with frustration.

On her way out of the hotel, she stopped by the little café near the front desk and ordered a double-shot mocha. She’d only had three or so hours of sleep, and it probably wouldn’t look well to be falling asleep at her chair later. The friendly barista spoke in French, rather than German. It reminded her of Amélie, which made her bite down painfully on her tongue. When she was handed her coffee, she said a rushed _danke_ , and it probably came across as a bit rude. The poor barista was not at fault, but that did nothing to ease Angela’s foul mood.

The event went by painfully slow. Every word said by the speakers seemed to enter one of Angela’s ears and come out of the other without being processed or accounted for. Her mind was completely elsewhere. She was thankful that today she was only there as an audience member, rather than a speaker, and surprised even herself with her lack of interest in something of great relevance to her field.

She let out a sigh of relief when the audience began to clap, signaling the end of the last speech. Now it was time for the socialization part of the event, which normally she wouldn’t look forward to, but at least that would stand a better chance at distracting her. Plus, the free-flowing champagne would certainly help.

As soon as an omnic waiter passed by with a tray of champagne glasses, Angela took one. She quickly scanned her surroundings to make sure no acquaintances were too close by, then made her way to the corner of the room. There she’d be less likely to be bothered too much.

She was still stopped many times, of course. There were the inevitable greetings, handshakes, empty compliments and questions about the current state of her research, requests for photos. She mostly welcomed them, for once. Being engaged in conversation meant that she was forced to occupy her thoughts with the present situation, rather than… well, everything else. It pulled her, even if briefly, from the confines of her overly-worrying, paranoid, self-sabotaging mind.

Not surprisingly, Angela ended up probably accepting a few too many glasses of champagne. Not ninety had passed until she was far more smiley and talkative than she was at the start of the event. It wouldn’t be a problem to her image - after all, it was expected to get tipsy in situations like this - but it soon proved to be a problem otherwise. Every time she glanced at her phone, she had the thought of calling Amélie. And there was much she wanted to say, particularly with a few reduced inhibitions. She wanted to yell at her and demand to know why. She wanted to call her a liar and tell her “fuck you” for involving her in what constituted adultery. She wanted to tell her she missed her and beg her to please let them share another night together.  
  
Thoughts of how infantile she was being over what was merely a hookup, collided with thoughts of how much Amélie had truly and sincerely shook her. She’d slept with women she just met at a bar before - and while she’d never discovered one of them had been married, she’d still been the one to quickly tell them “last night was all that will happen between us”. That fact alone bothered her to the very core. She thought she was above such things, and she hated, perhaps more than anything else, to be proven wrong.

She was nursing her fifth glass of champagne when she threw her objections out of the window, excused herself from her current conversation, and reached for her phone. She looked at the contact information - a number with a French area code under “Amélie” - for only a few short seconds before she shook her head and initiated the call.

The line rang, again and again. And again. Angela was about to give up hope that she would obtain an answer when a voice came through the speakers.

_“Oui?”_

Her heart, damn her, accelerated in her chest.

“Amélie?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Amélie… this is Angela. From- from the pub.”

There was silence for a short moment.

“Angela. I didn’t think you would get in touch with me.”

“I didn’t either, but… well, here I am.”

More silence. Amélie seemed to be pondering her words before she said them.

“Will you hear me out?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Will you come meet me?”

Angela’s heart caught in her throat - _again._

“Yes.”

“There is a small Italian restaurant near my hotel. I can send you the address. Can you meet me there at 7 this evening?”

That would give her a short window of time to shower and get ready (and sober up), but she wouldn’t say no for the world.

“Yes, alright. Just send me the address.”

“Mm. Alright. I will see you tonight, then. Thank you, Angela.”

“I’ll see you tonight.” She hung up.

As she tucked her phone back into her purse, Angela smiled. She felt hopeful. Even if the situation hardly warranted any hope, she was still an optimist by nature. And, even if nothing Amélie had to say would ease her feelings about what had happened, at least she would get to see her again.

 

* * *

 

Back at her hotel room, and nude save for the towel wrapped around herself, Angela found herself staring at her open suitcase and, yet again, agonizing over what she would wear. She was _nervous_. That bothered her. All of this, loathe as she might to admit it, bothered her.

She thanked whatever deity was listening that she brought more than one outfit suited for anything other than work. She’d hardly even remembered that she brought the calf-length white dress that she’d last worn to Torbjorn’s birthday dinner. Still, it was there, and it was (probably) flattering, so it’d do.

As she stuffed her things into her clutch before she left the room, she almost laughed at herself because her heart was racing like she was a schoolgirl about to meet a date.

Stepping out of the cab and looking around her, the place seemed to mostly match her expectation of what it would be like. A small, cozy-looking restaurant with not too many patrons, and some pleasant live music being played. She didn’t need to search for long before she spotted Amélie, in all of her elegance, seated at a two-person table decorated with lit candles, glass of red wine in hand. The picture could have easily been the inspiration for a painting.

Angela steeled herself and walked to table. Noticing her presence, Amélie smiled. She seemed genuinely happy to see her. Angela swallowed.

“ _Bonsoir,”_ Amélie said.

 _“Bonsoir,_ ” answered Angela, settling in her seat.

Amélie, of course, looked impeccable. She probably was never anything but. Still, the look on her face gave away that she was somewhat uneasy. “I really did not think you would come,” she said.

“The circumstances aren’t ideal,” Angela said, trying to remain objective.

“No… Of course not.” Amélie sipped at her wine. “Are you going to order anything?”

“I’ll have a glass of whatever you’re having, for now,” Angela said. One glass would be nice, but she knew that she needed to remain sober for this encounter, whatever it would lead to.

Amélie signaled the waiter, ordered a second glass of Cabernet Sauvignon for Angela, and then stayed quiet for a while, avoiding Angela’s gaze. Angela just observed, her leg twitching with anticipation.

“This… is not easy for me,” Amélie said, finally.

Angela raised her eyebrows. “Well, I didn’t think it would be.”

“Have you ever been married, Angela?” Amélie asked.

That took Angela aback. She blinked. “No.”

“Ever gotten close to it?”

“No.”

And it was true. Angela had been up to her chin with work or study or both since she was a teenager. She’d had no time for such things, not even close.

“I see,” Amélie said. She took another sip of her wine. “I… Got married when I was very young. I was twenty-one when he proposed and twenty-two when we signed the documents.”

The waiter came, placing a glass on the table and filling it with wine. Angela whispered a thank-you before turning her curious gaze back to Amélie.

“I was young, naive. I wanted security. My family… I will say, they were against my decision to take up dance as a career. I felt lost.”

Angela silenced in silence. Her expression curled into a frown. She felt for Amélie.

“There was a man I met after one of my shows. He was so kind, so attentive. Handsome, too. We met for coffee one day, and our relationship quickly developed from there. I learned that he had a job that kept him traveling very often, and for that reason he struggled to maintain relationships.”

Amélie paused then. She seemed to want to have another sip of wine, but stopped herself in favor of continuing to talk.

“I thought we were the perfect match. He always knew what to say, always knew what would make me feel right at every moment. When he proposed, I had absolutely no reservations about saying yes.”

“So… in him you saw-”

“- An opportunity,” Amélie cut in. “A chance to get away from the chains of my family and do something for myself. Live my own life. And I truly believed that he would be the one who could grant me that.”

Angela bit her lip. “Did you love him?”

Amélie looked away. “I… I cannot say. I cannot say if I did then or if I do now. And while he is a wonderful man who cares for me endlessly and for whom I wish nothing but the best, I have-” she inhaled sharply. “I have never been truly happy with him.”

Angela watched her, deep in thought. She had always had a great deal of empathy, and so hearing those words made her heart break for Amélie; and yet, being a skeptical and careful woman, she could not help but wonder how much of what Amélie was saying was true. How could she know? How could she know that Amélie hadn’t been cheating on this man with several women - or men - for years? How could she know that this wasn’t all a collection of theatrics put together in order to get Angela in her bed again?

“I thought that he would grant me happiness, but I have probably never been so unhappy.” Amélie grabbed her wineglass and seemed to hold onto it with an excessive amount of strength. The muscles of her hand and arm visibly tensed.

“This is unlike me. I never expected to tell anyone this,” Amélie said.

“Then why tell me?” Angela said.

Amélie searched for her gaze with somewhat sad hazel eyes. “I’m not certain. I told you when we met that you have something special about you, and I mean that even more now. I-”

She paused again, biting her lip. “I don’t know exactly what it was, but something was different with you. I have not stopped thinking of you since you left.”

She laughed, and Angela noted again how smooth and musical her laugh was.

“I know I’m being such a fool. But I think I might have gone crazy if I didn’t tell you.”

Angela was quiet for a long moment, processing what she had heard. Amélie was trapped in a prison of her own design, and Angela’s unrelenting savior’s heart made her feel like she wished she could do something to help her. Still, logically, she knew that she couldn’t. There was nothing that she could do for Amélie other than perhaps lend a listening ear.

“Amélie, I… You must know that I can’t, that we can’t-”

“I know,” Amélie said. “I know. But I needed you to know.”

In some strange way, Angela understood.

As if on cue in order to smooth out the edge of the tension, the waiter returned, asking them if they would like to order. Amélie ordered some dish that Angela couldn't make out, and then looked at her expectantly.

“I’ll have the same,” Angela said, not thinking.

Somehow, despite their circumstances, the two shared a pleasant dinner. Somehow it was like they hadn’t just shared a tense, emotionally-charged conversation. Amélie gossiped about some of the other dancers in her company, and Angela told stories of her misadventures in medical school. Their conversation flowed so easily, and yet again, they made each other laugh. Amélie made it so easy to be in her presence, even with her somewhat intimidating nature.

They fell silent again when they finished their meals. They watched each other, uncertain what to say. Dinner was over. They would have to part ways now. Reality seemed harsh all of a sudden.

Amélie sighed, cleared her throat. “Well, I suppose I should order the check. And, please, don’t even think about trying to pay.”

Angela didn’t. She may not have known Amélie for long, but it was enough for her to know that arguing with her once she’d made up her mind was pointless.

She paid, and Angela found herself watching her hand as she took the credit card from the waiter’s hand. Amélie really did have such beautiful hands.

And then they were standing up, and suddenly Angela’s heart raced because she was standing close to Amélie. She prayed that her face wasn’t flushed, but it hardly mattered when Amélie was looking at her deep in the eyes.

“Angela, I… Thank you, for meeting me today. For hearing me out.” There was some emotion hidden within her words, something Angela couldn’t quite decipher.

“Of course. It was the least I could do.”  
  
“Perhaps we can meet again, sometime in the future,” Amélie said. Angela swallowed.

“Yes… That- I mean, that would be nice.”

Amélie took a step closer. “Goodbye for now, then, Angela.”

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Angela’s cheek, and it lingered for just a second too long to just be a simple, purely platonic goodbye kiss. It was a small contact, but Angela felt it all over her body, like a surge of electricity. When Amélie pulled away, she side-stepped Angela and walked in the opposite direction. The scent of her perfume seemed to follow her.

Angela didn’t turn to look, because she knew deep down that if she did, she would have an image etched into her mind that would haunt her in her dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

The remainder of Angela’s time in Munich was a blur.

She tried to keep Amélie from her mind. Tried not to replay the words she told her at the restaurant, not to agonize over them. She told herself over and over to be an adult. She had come here for work and was letting herself get distracted by a brief encounter with a stranger at a pub.

Still, she did her job. She attended the rest of the event and she kept up with her medical journals and the reports from Overwatch. She carried it all out, perfectly methodical, because she would never allow herself to do anything less. It was what she lived for.

 

As she walked through the bridge to board her flight back to Gibraltar, her phone buzzed. The words on the screen made her eyes widen and her heart skip a beat.

A message from Amélie. “I imagine you should be returning soon. I wish you a safe journey. And, once again, thank you.”

Angela hardly even remembered giving her number to Amélie. Her mind had been too occupied with other things. In any case, she certainly didn’t expect to ever hear from Amélie again. She considered not answering. Much as she wanted to, she knew that she shouldn’t add fuel to the fire. Her fingers typed a response before she could stop them.

“Yes, I’m boarding my flight now. You don’t need to thank me, Amélie. Take care.”

She thought that that would be the last of their communication, but it wasn’t.

When Amélie returned to Paris, she snapped a photo of the lit up Eiffel Tower and sent it to Angela, along with a message saying, “it’s good to home.” Angela smiled at it. She responded, “I wish I could stay the same. I just finished applying a dose of nanos to a coworker’s injury.”

Slowly but surely, through late-night texts and photos and even a call or two once in a while, the two became a consistent presence in each other’s lives. It became a part of Angela’s routine to check her phone for Amélie’s messages.

Sometimes she worried about texting her at inconvenient times, since she didn’t exactly have a regular person’s sleep schedule, but Amélie didn’t seem to mind in the least.

Sometimes, she was so happy to receive a message that she almost forgot the reality of the situation - that Amélie was married, first of all, and that she was acting like a giddy schoolgirl with a crush about it all. And, perhaps worst of all, she wasn’t sure that she even cared anymore. The warmth that she felt when she opened a newly received picture of Amélie seemed to revitalize her very soul.

Her coworkers had even begun to tease her about it.

“Oooh, who ya textin’, Angie?” peeped Lena one afternoon in the mess hall.

Angela had a mug filled with fresh coffee in one hand, and her phone in the other. She must have been smiling stupidly at it again.

Angela blinked. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said,” Lena repeated, “who you textin’, hmm? Someone special, mayhaps?”

Angela blushed in spite of herself. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lena. It’s just a friend.”

“Hm. I have noticed you grinning at that phone much more than usual since you returned from Germany. Are you sure it’s nobody that you met during your time there?” asked Ana Amari, in that slightly playful tone that gave away that she was hoping to obtain the latest gossip.

Angela swallowed. “Captain Amari, please. She really is just a friend.”

Technically, it was true. Technically she and Amélie were just friends. Just friends who had slept together, who had shared secrets, who exchanged messages at all hours of the day. But still just friends. It was all they would ever be, even if that thought left a sour taste in Angela’s mouth.

“Something tells me that even if they were more than a friend, you wouldn’t share as much with us,” Ana noted.

Angela briefly laughed, then sipped her coffee. “Don’t worry, Ana. If and when that happens, I will tell you.”

Ana smirked, and stood to go back to her room. Lena, too, zipped out of the room with blinks of light. Only when she was alone did Angela really realize what she had said. If and when that happens? Good god, she was beyond hopeless. Shaking her head, she made her way back to her office, knowing she would need to dive head-first back into work if she were to have any hope of putting that wretched thought from her mind.

Angela didn’t leave her office for the rest of the day. She read over material and wrote page after page of notes about her research. Ana had knocked on her door to ask her to come to dinner, to which she’d responded a very typical “Be there soon!”, which Ana knew perfectly well that what Angela really meant was, “I’m probably not going to show up at all”.

By the time Angela slumped on her chair and pulled it away from her desk, it was late. Very late. Exhausted, she removed her reading glasses, rubbed her eyes, and checked her phone. 2:33am. She’d keep working if it were up to her, but she knew that she was of no use to Overwatch, or anyone, if she collapsed from exhaustion. Reluctantly, she stood and made her way to the bathroom for a shower.

Underneath the warm running water, Angela’s world was so quiet. There was no background noise of her work’s endless words. There, she was truly alone with her thoughts. As she smoothed her soap-covered hands over her shoulders, her arms, she sighed. The inevitable memory of when she’d last been touched by someone else like this creeped into her mind again. Amélie had gently run her soft hands over her naked body when they made love. Had made every inch of her skin feel alight with sweet, sweet fire.

Angela touched a finger to her lip. God help her, she was longing for Amélie again. She knew it had technically been just sex, but she’d had “just sex” many times before. What she and Amélie felt far from that. She couldn’t recall every feeling like she did when they were together. When they bantered at the bar, when they smoked cigarettes together. When they danced, their bodies so hot and so close. When Amélie kissed her, a kiss so sweet and so hot that Angela could still remember exactly how it felt. When they’d gone back to Amélie’s hotel and made love into the night, and Amélie took her to places she never knew existed before.

Of course, there was more to that memory. There was what came after, when Angela found out that Amélie was married. There was confusion, anger, hurt. But Angela didn’t want to think of that part, now. She wasn’t quite sure what had gotten into her, but all she wanted was to wrap herself in the warm feelings that came with the thought of that night in Munich before it turned sour.

Angela settled on her bed, sighing at the soft sheets and pillows. She grabbed her phone, opened up her messages, and let her eyes linger for a while on Amélie’s last message. “I know I shouldn’t be eating macaroons again, but I can’t help myself. They’re delicious.” Angela laughed yet again at it. “You really are so unbelievably French,” she had responded. Amélie sent her an emoticon expressing annoyance. Adorable.

Angela bit her lip, having second thoughts for a brief moment, but allowed her fingers to type a new message anyway.

“I only just tucked myself in. I hope that you’re sleeping well.”

Angela’s heart began to race when, almost immediately, a notification popped up, indicating that Amélie was typing a response.

“Actually, I’m not sleeping at all. Insomnia again.”

Oh. Angela remembered then that Amélie had mentioned that her husband was gone for another work-related trip.

“Perhaps the bed is cold for you, then,” she typed.

“Yes, it is. If only you were here to warm it for me,” Amélie responded.

Angela blushed. Was Amélie being sarcastic? That was quite a bold statement, even from Amélie, who had a tendency to be flirtatious. Angela allowed herself to be bold in response.

“Trust me, if it were up to me, I would already be on my way there.”

This time Amélie took a while before she responded. Angela feared, for those agonizing minutes, that she may have gone too far. Then came Amélie’s reply.

  
“Don’t tease me like that, Angela. It’s late, I’m lonely, and I fear what I might do if you let me entertain such thoughts.”

Her heart raced again, and this time she felt that pressure, that heat in her gut as her eyes scanned the uwords.

“Such thoughts? I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” she typed, playing coy.

“Thoughts of having you here, in my bed with me.”

More pressure. More heat. Angela began to mindlessly rub her legs together.

“I see. And what exactly is it that you fear, if I do let you entertain those thoughts.”

“Oh, many things, _chérie_. My hand might begin to wander, for one.”

Oh god, she really was going there. Angela’s own hand twitched with the urge to slip underneath her nightgown. Amélie was cruel.

“Now you’re the one who’s teasing. Please don’t let me try to imagine that.”

Amélie took a while again. “Oh? Why not? Afraid you might want to do the same?”

Damn her. She knew exactly what she was doing, as always.

“Exactly. So be good, now, and don’t torment me,” Angela typed, acting coy again.

“Mm. I don’t think I’m in a mood to be good. I think I want to tell you how much I wish you were here with me. How much I wish I could feel your hands on me.”

Angela groaned. She didn’t even to reach into her panties to know how wet she already was. It was ridiculous, and embarrassing, but it was fitting that Amélie would have that effect on her.

“You’re going to kill me, Amélie. I want nothing more. I haven’t stopped thinking of you, of your body, for a single moment.”

It was the first time that she admitted anything of the sort to Amélie. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, but somehow, she didn’t care. Amélie didn’t seem to, either.

“Nor have I stopped thinking of yours. You don’t know what you do to me, Angela. Even now my body aches for you.”

Angela brushed two of her fingertips over her panties. Her wetness had stained through the cotton. She typed her response, a bit slower now that she could only use one hand.

“Does it? I want to hear about it, Amélie…”

“Oh yes. Every day, I fight the urge to touch myself with the image of you in my mind.”

God. Angela was the same.

“And do you succeed?”

“Sometimes I do. Others I can’t. I can’t stop myself when the ache is too strong.”

“What about right now? Can you resist now?”

Angela hardly breathed as she waited for Amélie’s answer.

“Do you want me to resist, _chérie_?”

“No. I want you to give in.”

If Angela was taking the plunge, then she wanted Amélie to take it with her. Oh, the thought of them pleasuring themselves at the same time, thinking of each other, made her go almost delirious with desire.

“Mm. Good answer.”

That message came, then a mere 30 seconds after, another:

“I’m already so wet for you, Angela. I wish you could feel it.”

Fuck, she wanted to feel it. She wished so much that she could slip her fingers between Amélie’s legs and feel her, taste her.

“I wish I could too, Amélie. I miss you so much. I miss how you taste.”

“Oh, to feel your mouth on me now, chérie. You are so talented with it, too. Even just the memory makes me hot.”

Angela could no longer resist reaching into her panties. In fact, she decided, they were in her way. She reached forward and pulled them down, tossing them to the side. She spread her legs, and shuddered when she ran a finger through her folds, her clit. She was utterly sensitive, and utterly wet.

“Amélie, I’m so wet, it’s painful.”

“Mm. Tell me what you’re thinking of, _chérie_.”

Angela ran slow, easy circles on her clit with the fingers on of one hand as the other typed, far too slow for her liking.

“You, Amélie. Your lips on mine, your tongue against mine. Your hands all over my body, touching me.”

“I want to touch you, Angela. I want to touch you everywhere. I want to slip my fingers inside you.”

Angela moaned aloud, feeling Amélie’s words and the effect they had between her legs. Suddenly she felt empty and aching, and she yearned for Amélie’s fingers.

“God I want it, Amélie. I want your fingers so badly. My own touch isn’t enough.”

This time, Amélie’s response wasn’t a text message. It was an image. Oh jesus fuck.

Amélie had snapped a photo of herself, sprawled on her bed, gloriously naked. Her free hand was cupping her breast, and her mouth was open just so. She was absolute perfection. Angela’s hips thrusted into her hand.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Amélie, god. I want to have you all over me,” she frantically typed.

“And I want you, Angela. I’m fucking myself with my fingers now, but I wish they were yours. I wish it was you inside me.”

Angela pictured it, Amélie on her bed with her legs spread wide, one hand clutching her phone and the other thrusting inside of her. The visual turned her on so much that she whined, the movements of her fingers turned into lightning fast, desperate circles.

“ _Amélie_ , oh god, Amélie,” she called out to her empty room. Her phone soon buzzed with another message.

“Send me a photo of you, Angela, please. I’m so close.”

Angela immediately sat up to do so, but hissed with the frustration of having to stop touching herself. She pulled her night gown off of her, and posed for the picture. She cupped her breast, like Amélie had, and bit her bottom lip for good measure. She snapped the photo, and sent it to Amélie.

“Oh, Angela, you’re perfect. An angel. Ugh, fuck me.”

Angela resumed her circles on her clit. She whined again, almost to the point of tears. She was close.

“Amélie, will you come for me?” she typed, her hand shaking.

“I will, Angela. I’m so close. I’m going to come so hard for you.”

Thinking of Amélie reaching her peak, with her fingers inside of her and Angela’s name on her lips, was just too much. Angela cried out as tears escaped from her eyes.

“Amélie, oh fuck, _Amélie_!!”

She screamed, long and in high pitches, her hips bucking wildly into her hands as her orgasm shook her. She pictured Amélie coming apart at the exact same time.

When her peak faded, she laid back against her pillows, exhausted and breathing heavily. Her limbs were still shaking with the after shocks.

Her phone buzzed again. She lifted it up with a tired arm.

“That was absolutely incredible, Angela,” Amélie sent. Angela smiled widely at it.

“Yes, it was. You, are incredible, Amélie.”

“You shouldn’t say that, _chérie_. In any case, I must be going to sleep now. I believe you’ve cured my insomnia for the night.”

Angela frowned at Amélie’s statement that she shouldn’t say that she’s incredible, but decided not to press it. She was exhausted too.

“Yes, you should rest. I’m going to sleep, too. Good night, Amélie.”

“Sweet dreams, Angela.”

Any and all self-hating thoughts were far from Angela’s mind now. She turned to the side, clutching one of her pillows, and smiling to herself. She slept deeply and soundly.

When Angela woke, she was initially confused upon finding that she was naked. She didn’t usually sleep naked, at least not at this time of the year. Why..?

Then it came back to her. Oh god, she’d really done it. She’d sexted with Amélie - with explicit pictures exchanged and everything. They had thought of each other as they came. It was heaven, and it was hell.

What in the world was she doing? Was sleeping with a married woman not enough? Did she have to get into a long distance affair with her too? Because there really was nothing else that she could call this, now.

Every pang or warmth was accompanied by a pang of guilt as she replayed the events of the previous night in her mind. She really was weak. She had taken Amélie’s bait like a complete fool. And the worst part was that she probably couldn’t resist anymore. Amélie had opened the gates to hell, and Angela would sell herself to the devil. She would do it if it meant having Amélie in her life.

She grabbed her nightgown and her panties off the floor, and went about getting dressed. Some part of her was fearful that Amélie would express regret about what they had done, but most of her was confident.

Ten minutes later, as if Amélie had read her mind, her phone buzzed with a message from her.

“Good morning, _chérie_. I hope you slept well. I certainly did, and after reading our messages from last night, I couldn’t help but touch myself again. You really have done a number on me. Have a good day.”

Angela bit her lip to stifle a gasp. It seemed that Amélie had taken the plunge along with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m incredibly sorry about the delay in posting this chapter! i’ve expanded the story yet again. more to come!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the wait!

“Angela. Are you awake?”

The message came in at forty-past-midnight. Angela had still been in the medbay at that time, in the midst of surgery. Her focus and concentration were immaculate as she saved yet another life.

She and Amélie had been speaking more frequently lately. She felt like she was like a student, sharing her daily activities, her life, with a sweetheart through messages.

A sweetheart. Is that what Amélie was to her? A long distance sweetheart?

Angela looked at her phone when she sat at her desk. When she left the medbay, Captain Amari told her that she needed to rest. She smiled and assured her that she would, at some point. That earned her an exasperated sigh as she made her way back to her quarters.

Her eyes were tired. Her back hurt. Her body craved rest, but she refused to relent. She had work to do. She sipped newly-made coffee with one hand, while the other held her phone as she looked at Amélie’s message. She checked the time. 2:14am. Too tired to type, she dictated her response for the phone’s AI to do it for her.

“I’m sorry, Amélie. I’ve been awake, but I was performing surgery when you sent your message. I just sat at my desk to catch up with work.”

Amélie responded within two minutes.

“Angela, do you ever do anything other than work? When was the last time you took time to yourself?”

“I’m afraid I can’t afford to do so,” she responded.

Unbeknownst to her, about two thousand kilometers away, Amélie was laying in bed, frowning at her phone. She could faintly hear the water of the shower running in the bathroom adjacent to her room.

“I worry about you, Angela. I don’t want want you to die before I can see you again,” she typed.

Angela’s heart raced when she read the message. They’d exchanged countless “I miss you”s, and “I wish you were here”, but never actually mentioned the prospect of meeting again. She’d imagined it, dreamed about it, but also dreaded the fact that it would make their affair all the more real. Unlike their first encounter, she would be knowingly engaging in an act of infidelity. She bit her bottom her lip.

“And are you? Are you going to see me again?”

Amélie stared at the message, clutching her phone with great force. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say that she wished she could pack her bags right now and go to her. She wished-

The water stopped. With a lightning-fast reflex, Amélie locked her phone, put it down beside her, and grabbed her book from the bedside table. The bathroom door opened, and she glued her eyes to a random page.

Her husband emerged, wrapped in a towel and with his skin still damp. Her husband, Gérard Lacroix. High-ranking Overwatch agent, proud Parisian, and man whom she had sworn to love and cherish for the rest of her life in front of a priest. He’d come home for what was supposed to be a week, but he was already due to fly back to Gibraltar in two days.

She didn’t look at him as he got dressed in his cotton pajamas. Amélie hated the things; thought they were utterly tacky. She grabbed her phone again, and messaged Angela before he turned around.

“Yes. Perhaps not now, but one day. I long for it.”

She put it back down, and returned her eyes to her book. Gérard crawled tiredly into his side of the bed, and she tensed. He sighed pleasantly when his face got close to her.

“You smell so nice, _chérie_. You always do, but I think I might be especially fond of this fragrance.”

She forced a smile. “It’s Ylang-Ylang. I quite like it too.”

He chuckled. “I don’t even know what that is, but it’s nice on you and that’s all I need to know.”

He leaned in and pressed a long kiss to her cheek. “I missed you so much, Amélie. Everyday.

She turned to him, and he pulled her into a kiss. She kissed back, vaguely worried that he would be able to tell how tense she was. Only vaguely, though, since he was never good at reading her.

“I missed you too. I wish you could have stayed longer this time.”

“God, me too, chérie. It’s all I wanted. But you know how these things are. I can’t-“

“Yes, I know. Don’t worry about it. I understand.”

It came out far more crass than she’d intended. Gérard furrowed his brow.

“Amélie, I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard on you.”

 _On me?_ thought Amélie.

“Which is why I’ve been thinking… I want to bring you to the Watchpoint with me.”

Amélie’s eyes went wide open.

“What?”

“I know I’ve always said that I didn’t want to risk it, but the Watchpoint is very a safe place. Our enemies have been laying low too, so…”

He took a breath. “I just don’t want to leave you again. I’ll be out on missions a lot, but at least I’d still see you almost everyday. All of my colleagues have been dying to meet you, too.”

Amélie was skeptical. She raised an eyebrow. “You’d always told me that bringing me to any Overwatch holding was too dangerous.”

“I know, I know. But like I said, I think it’s safer now. I wouldn’t be saying this if it weren’t true. And…”

He covered one of her hands with his. “I really, really don’t want to be away from you for a long time again. I’m not ready for it.”

Amélie pondered it. She certainly didn’t love being in Paris all by herself, especially during her company’s off-season. She’d go to the studio, practice for a few hours, then spend the rest of the time being bored and lonely. Texting Angela helped, though.

Gérard was still looking at her. He was waiting for an answer.

“Are you certain?” she asked.

“I am. I want you to come with me. What do you say?”

There was a small feeling of unease inside her, but she relented.

“Alright. I will go.”

Gérard was ecstatic. He hugged her tightly. “Thank you, chérie. I’ll contact Commander Morrison right now and let him know.”

He grabbed his phone and quickly typed up a message, grinning. Amélie turned to look at her own. “One new massage: Angela”, the home screen read. She took another glance at Gérard before picking it up and unlocking it.

“I want to see you too, Amélie, but I wonder if it’s a good idea,” the message said. She didn’t even need to think about her response.

“It isn’t a good idea, but I still want it. You may have learned this by now, but I want for many things that aren’t good ideas.”

She put it down again.

“Telling people already?” asked Gérard. He was still grinning. Amélie smiled and nodded.

“A fellow dancer from my company,” she lied. “How long will I be staying?”

“Until I can go home again, if you’re alright with that. It shouldn’t be more than a week or so.”

“Mm.”

Gérard’s phone beeped, and he looked at it. “All right, it seems we’re set. The transport will pick us up on wednesday.”

“Sounds good”.

Gérard leaned in and kissed her again, with more enthusiasm this time. She returned it as much as she could, but when he groaned and began to kiss at her neck, to tug at her silk camisole, it became too much. She put a hand between them.

“Gérard… Not tonight.”

He kissed her neck again. “You know, we’ll only have a bed as comfortable as this for two more days…”

There was a slight smugness to his voice, and Amélie hated it. She pulled him away a bit, and made a conscious effort to keep her tone calm.

“I worked myself too hard at practice today. My body needs to rest.”

He sighed. “Alright, _chérie_. Please be careful about that, though. The off-season is precisely for your body to heal.”

“I know. I will try.”

She gave him a brief kiss on the lips. “Good night, _mon cher._ ”

“Good night Amélie. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She turned to her right side, facing away from him. She checked her phone, but frowned upon seeing no new messages from Angela. She pondered telling her that she’d be traveling, but then remembered the mental note she’d made about not mentioning Gérard in their conversations. She suppressed a sigh before sending another message.

“I’m thinking of you, Angela. Have a good night.”

She switched off her lamp, and shut her eyes. She played classical music in her mind, as she tended to do when attempting to sleep. She turned to one side, then the other, then back again. She couldn’t tell how much time had passed when the frustration got to her, and Gérard was already lightly snoring. She scoffed, grabbed her phone, and quietly made her way to the living room.

She laid on the couch and pulled up her messages with Angela again. This, too, had become a common occurrence during her many sleepless nights. She looked at the pictures Angela had sent her, and her eyes quickly went to the lewd ones. God, Angela was beautiful. It wasn’t fair.

Guilt began to seep into her, and it made her angry. Deciding she had no time for it right now, she told the feeling to go fuck itself, and slipped a hand underneath her camisole.

She went back and forth between looking at pictures of Angela, and the messages from the night when they’d sexted. Her mind conjured all sorts of fantasies, featuring Angela in all manner of places and positions. Her fingers went underneath her panties, and she hurriedly stroked herself until she had to let go of her phone to cover her mouth and the desperate gasp that tried to escape it. When the high dissipated, she laid back until her breath normalized and function returned to her limbs.

Slowly and reluctantly, then, she got up, and went to the bathroom to wash her hands. If only she could wash the sin off too, she thought. She crawled back into bed, and this time when she relaxed, she knew sleep would come to her. She had a smile on her lips and images of Angela in her mind as she finally drifted off for the night.  
  
  


* * *

 

Angela woke up when sunlight began to shine over her eyes. She flinched at it, blinking slowly, before realizing how incredibly sore her back and neck were.

Oh. She’d fallen asleep at her desk again. Wonderful.

She brought a hand to her neck and cracked it, trying to ease away some of the pain. With her other hand she reached for her phone.

6:24am. Two new messages from Amélie.

Fuck. She couldn’t even reply to those. She quickly typed a response.

“Shit, Amélie, I’m sorry again. I fell asleep at my desk like an idiot. I hope you managed to sleep okay.”

She set it back on the table, and stood to go take a shower. It was going to be a long day.

The mess hall was lively at breakfast time. Most of the occupants of the Watchpoint were there, some of them chatting, others quietly reading their holopads as they ate. Angela made herself a sandwich, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat at one of tables with Lena, Ana, and Gabriel.

“Good morning guys.”

They all said good morning in unison, then quickly got back to the conversation they were having.

“Right, so, yeah!” Lens was saying. “I haven’t the foggiest what I want to get her this year! I’m going out of my bloody mind!”

“Her?” asked Angela, interested now.

“Emily! Her birthday’s coming up soon and I’ve got no idea what I’ll do for her present. I want it to be special, unique.” She slumped in her seat. “This is so stressful.”

“Lena, devising a strategy to counter Talon is stressful. You don’t need to lose your head over this. It’s just a present,” posed Gabriel.

“It is NOT! I already spend so much time away for her, the least I can do is get something nice for her birthday!”

“Don’t mind him, Lena. He wouldn’t understand,” Ana assured.

Angela laughed quietly. She found Lena’s preoccupation with her girlfriend’s birthday present very endearing.

“Ugh, and come tomorrow we’re gonna have a pair of lovebirds flying around here too. This place is going to feel like a schoolyard,” Gabriel complained with joking annoyance.

“What? What pair of lovebirds?” asked Angela.

“Oh, you didn’t hear? Lacroix is bringing his wife with him when he comes back. With the way he talks about her, I can only imagine what it’s going to be like when he’s actually with her.”

“Huh. I hadn’t heard.”

“Well, you better get ready, because I’ll bet that they’re going to be saccharine as hell.”

Admittedly, Angela rarely spoke to Lieutenant Lacroix, and when she did, it was usually to ask him questions about his health, or give him medical instructions. She’d only heard a few things here and there about how he had a wife that he was apparently crazy about, but that was it.

“Mm. Well that should be something.”

“That’s one way to put it! She’s right pretty, she is,” Lena commented.

“Is she, now? And how would you know that?” asked Ana, interested as always in the details.

“He’s shown me pictures, of course! I can’t wait to meet her in person.”

“Lena, please do not flirt with Gérard’s wife,” Ana playfully cautioned.

“No promises, luv!” And with blinks of white light, she put away her plate and was gone from the room.

Gabriel stood up too. “Well. I should get going too. Later Captain, doctor.”

“See you soon, Reyes,” said Ana.

“Until later, Gabriel,” Angela followed.

Angela finished her sandwich as Ana languidly sipped on her tea. She seemed to be rather lost in thought.

“What are you thinking about, Captain?” Angela asked, curious.

Ana hummed. “Just reflecting, I suppose. All this talk about significant others makes me think about my own history.”

Don’t I know it, Angela thought. She thought of Amélie, despite being perfectly aware of how inappropriate it was.

“It looks like we’re in for an interesting couple of days, huh,” she said simply.

“It would seem so.”  
  
  


* * *

 

Angela spent the remainder of the day alternating between miniscule naps and long hours of work. Every time she allowed herself to have a small break, she checked her phone, but there were no new messages from Amélie. She supposed she must have been busy.

“I know you’ve probably been busy, but stupid as it may sound, I’ve missed you today, Amélie,” she’d typed to her around late afternoon.

She didn’t receive a response until half past nine at night.

“I’m sorry, Angela. It really was a long day, but I’ve missed you as well. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to be a bit more busy than usual.”

Angela read it immediately, for once. For once, she wasn’t in the middle of surgery, or a briefing, or with her nose buried in her work.

“Oh? Why is that?” she responded, curious but a bit disappointed if it meant that Amélie would be messaging her less often.

“Just going on a little trip.”

Amélie didn’t divulge on any further details. She didn’t need to be sharing anything that had to do with her husband, even tangentially. Angela seemed to catch on because she didn’t ask any more questions; yet still she briefly imagined what it might be like to go on a trip with Amélie. To get away from work, from chaos, just for a few days, to be with the woman who was almost constantly on her mind.  
  
  


* * *

 

Angela woke up slowly that morning, stirring in her sheets and stretching her arms, as opposed to jumping at the blaring sound of her alarm. Her body felt warm and light.

She’d dreamed about Amélie again. This time they were on a cruise ship together. They’d gone swimming together, held hands and kissed. She brought a finger up to her lips and touched them lightly. It had felt so real, so vivid. She wished she could close her eyes again, and go straight back to where it had stopped. A sour thought followed that one: that such a thing would only ever happen in her dreams. She was wishing for something she could never have.

There seemed to be quite a stir in the mess hall that morning. Lots of chattering. She spotted Ana at the edge of a table, dipping a bag of tea into her cup.

“Ana,” Angela called. “Good morning. What’s gotten everyone so jittery?”

“Good morning, Angela. Lieutenant Lacroix’s transport just came in a few minutes ago. Jack and Gabriel seem to have urgent matters to discuss with him, and Lena is dying to meet his wife - oh, look. Speak of the devil.”

“Mornin’ Angie, Captain Amari! I’m off to the entry hall to welcome back Gérard. Want to come with?”

“No thank you,” Ana replied, taking a sip of her tea. “I think I’m going to wait for him here.”

Lena turned to Angela. “Angie?”

Angela shrugged. “Why not, I suppose. I’ll go with you.”

Lena seemed to be struggling to keep from blinking forward and leaving Angela behind.

“Why are you in such a hurry, Lena?” Angela asked, even knowing full well what the answer was.

“I’m always excited to meet a pretty girl,” Lena answered with a grin.

“You are hopeless,” Angela teased.

The pair reached the entrance hall, and almost as if on cue, the massive doors opened. In walked Gérard, as well as a woman walking behind him, holding his hand.

“Welcome back, Gérard!!” Lena was saying, quickly making her way towards them.

The incoming stream of sunlight faded as the doors closed, and Angela’s eyes went to the woman following Gérard.

Her stomach dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliffhangers, am i right ladies. also! a small note: because now the plot is going to thicken significantly, the last two chapters will be significantly longer. please stay tuned, and thank you for reading so far. ♡


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rating has been bumped up to E. fasten your seatbelts everyone

Angela froze solid where she was standing. Her heart began to race and her head suddenly felt hot. Every muscle in her body tensed. She couldn’t quite tell, but she was fairly certain that she was shaking.

_No way. No fucking way. This isn’t happening._

Lena had given Gérard a quick hug, and was now enthusiastically speaking to Amélie, but Angela couldn’t hear the words being said, not with the ringing in her ears. Amélie must have been equally horrified, but she hardly gave it away. Clearly, she was practiced at hiding her true emotions. Her eye only revealed a barely-detectable panic.

Gérard was looking at her like she was the center of the world. Like she was the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. His face glowed with infatuation. It made Angela want to throw up.

She was grateful that Lena was taking her sweet time, bombarding Amélie with an onslaught of questions. Angela just continued to stand there, frozen and in disbelief.

The woman she’d met, slept with, sexted, and developed an undeniable crush on, wasn’t just married. She was married to Gérard Lacroix. A man who was her colleague, her superior even. A man she’d sewn up countless times on operating tables and primitive tents alike. A good man. One that was clearly very much in love with his wife.

It had to be some kind of sick joke the universe was playing on her. It had to be. Nothing else could explain something like this.

“Angie?”

Angela blinked. Lena was calling her name. She shook her head, focused her vision, and saw that all three of them were looking at her.

“Y-yes? Forgive me. I guess I’m more tired than I’d thought.”

Gérard chuckled. “Not a problem, Doctor. You work too hard.” He turned to Amélie. “This is my wife, Amélie. _Chérie_ , this is Doctor Angela Ziegler. I’ve lost count of how many times she’s saved my life.”

_God, shut up. Please shut up._

Amélie took a step, and extended her hand out. “Doctor Ziegler, it’s very nice to meet you.”

Angela concealed her urge to throw up to the best of her ability. She took Amélie’s hand and squeezed it.

“The pleasure is mine, Amélie. And, please, call me Angela.”

Speaking English to her was so strange. It felt wrong, even if her voice and her accent were still lovely. She felt electricity run through her veins when their hands touched. She’d waited so long for this - for the moment when they’d touch again - but this wasn’t how she wanted it to happen. She’d spent so many hours longing to see Amélie again, and now that she was, she wanted nothing more than to disappear.

She couldn’t stand to be in that situation for a second longer.

“Look, I’m- I’m so sorry, but I’ve just remembered I have an incredibly important conference call I must attend. I’m glad to see you back, Gérard- and Amélie, it was very nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy yourself while you’re here.”

She was speaking way too fast, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Amélie was watching her with a frown that spoke a million words.

“Excuse me,” she said again. She turned on her heel and power-walked out of the entrance hall and towards her office. She needed to be alone, right now, before someone saw her in her current, pathetic state.  


* * *

 

The second that the door to her office closed behind her, Angela slammed her body against it, and slumped down until she was sitting on the floor, clutching her knees. Hot tears that she’d been fiercely holding back were suddenly escaping her eyes and running down her cheeks. She shoved her face into her arms, and sobbed.

How in the world had this happened? What the fuck had her life come to? She reasoned that she must have been a truly fucking awful person in her past life, if she was being punished like this now.

She’d been trying to lie to herself about the way she felt about Amélie for a long time, but there was no more denying it now, not with how stunned she had been to see her walk through those doors, holding Gérard’s hand. Not with the feelings that crashed into her like a tidal wave. Shock, horror, nausea, and something that might have been akin to heartbreak.

_Good job, Ziegler. You’ve really done it this time._

She sobbed loudly and unabashedly into her arms. She let the emotions pour out of her through the hot, angry tears, because she wouldn’t be able to form a single rational thought until they did. What a pathetic picture she must have been, she thought. Curled up against herself on the floor of her office, leaning against the door, crying like an infant. And for the worst possible reason, too.

Many long minutes had passed by the time she was able to sniffle, draw her face away from her arms, and wipe her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. Her face felt swollen and red, and her throat was dry. She needed to hydrate herself.

It took a significant amount of effort for her to pull herself off of the floor. Her body felt so heavy. Had it been like that all day?

She was grateful that she still had bottles of water and cans of iced coffee in her office’s mini fridge. There was no way she was going outside, not when there was a chance that she would run into Amélie again - or anyone, for that matter. She wasn’t about to let her comrades see her like this. What would she even say? “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just crying because I found out that the woman I’ve been in some kind of long distance affair with is Lieutenant Lacroix’s wife. Nothing to worry about”? She stayed in her office all day, working on the latest report of her research. It was much of a distraction as she was going to get.

It had been dark for at least a few hours by the time she heard the bell to her door. A miniature hologram of Captain Amari manifested in front of her. Angela’s heart raced. She sunk in her chair, keeping quiet in hopes that Ana would give up and turn around.

“Angela,” Ana said from outside her door. “Open the door. I know you’re in there, I can see the lights on.”

Angela bit down hard on her lip. It seemed that she wouldn’t be able to get away from this. With a sigh, she pushed the button to open her office’s doors.

In walked an Ana Amari that did not look too pleased.

“What’s the matter, Angela? Lena told me that you seemed to be off this morning, and you haven’t left your office all day.”

“How do you know that I-“

“Athena.”

Wow. It was that bad, huh. Bad enough that Ana had inquired with Athena as to her whereabouts. Angela avoided her gaze.

“Forgive me, Captain. I guess I’m just having an off day. I’m quite tired.”

“Yes, she said that you said that, too.” She came closer, stopping only when she was standing at the opposite end of Angela’s desk.

“I know you, Angela. You seemed fine at breakfast, and now look at you. Working in your office all day, probably not eating anything. And you’ve been crying.”

Angela laughed a bit with incredulity. “Nothing escapes you, does it, Captain?”

“Indeed not. Now out with it.”

Angela felt her heart racing again. Trying to keep secrets from Ana Amari was a hopeless endeavor. But how could she possibly tell her? How could she admit what had made her like this when Gérard was right outside somewhere? When she was very young, her father once told her she didn’t owe the whole truth to anyone - and she’d never forgotten about it. She decided to meet Ana halfway.

“I just. I’m having, er. Some issues. Of the emotional kind.”

Ana raised one eyebrow. “That’s very unlike you, Angela.”

“I know.”

Throughout her many years working with Overwatch, Angela had never once let her personal life interfere with her duty. She’d been totally devoted to her work, always telling herself that she had no other choice. It was no wonder that Ana was seeing through her so easily.

Ana’s expression softened somewhat. “Angela, I don’t know what this matter could possibly be, but I need you to know that you aren’t alone here. Part of our duty is to take care of each other, and not just on the battlefield. If you need to speak with someone…”

_But that’s just it. I’ve failed in my duty and I don’t want to speak to anyone._

“I know. I know, Captain Amari. I truly appreciate you looking out for me, but I promise you, I’ll be fine. If… If it comes to the point that I need to reach out to someone, I will,” Angela assured, though her tone wasn’t the most convincing. Not to Ana.

She sighed. “Very well, Angela. If you say so. I hope you will at least come down for dinner.”

Angela nodded weakly.

“Take care.”

Ana turned, and Angela breathed with relief once she was out of the door. It was plain to her that Ana knew that she was intentionally hiding something.

She didn’t come down for dinner, of course. Instead, she ordered a frozen sandwich from the kitchen and had a bot bring it to her door so that she could keep working while she ate. She kept her phone beside her, and occasionally stole a nervous glance at it, wondering if Amélie would message her. She didn’t.

Later at night, what made her nearly jump in her seat was not a message from Amélie, but rather her holopad alerting her that she was being paged to the medbay for a non-emergency situation. She touched the screen. It was Gérard calling her. Fuck.

“Lieutenant Lacroix?”

“Doctor Ziegler, I’m sorry to disturb you, but could you come to the medbay? Amélie is not feeling very well - she says it must have been something she ate. Will you take a look at her?”

Her heart felt like it was twisting inside her. Fucking hell, what was it now? Had everything up until this point not been enough?

“Of course, Lieutenant. I’m on my way.”

Angela hurried through the corridors to get to the medbay, trying her best to steel herself. At this point, she figured, it couldn’t get any worse.

She opened the door to the medbay and there she was. Amélie, sitting at one of the examination tables, one hand over her abdomen. Gérard was standing beside her, and looking quite agitated.

“Doctor, thank you for coming.” He turned to Amélie. “She says that her stomach is in a lot of pain, and she feels dizzy and weak.”

“I see,” said Angela, quickly retrieving a lab coat, stethoscope and blood pressure monitor. Gérard kept talking.

“Like I said, she thinks it must be something she ate. I don’t-“

“Gérard, _please_ ,” Amélie interrupted. “I think it’s up to the doctor to ask the questions.”

“Yes. Right. Well - Doctor, I really need to hurry back to my meeting. We were discussing something of high priority. May I leave her in your care?”

The effort it took for Angela to keep composure upon hearing those words was staggering.

“Of course, Lieutenant. I will do my best.”

He exhaled, turning to Amélie and speaking to her quietly in French. “Don’t worry, chérie. You’re in very good hands with the doctor.”

_No, she’s really not._

“I’ll take my leave then. Thank you so much, Angela.”

 _Angela._ He had never called her by her first name before.

He whispered something to Amélie, briefly kissed her cheek, and quickly hurried out of the door. Angela could hear his loud steps as he ran across the corridor.

The silence that followed was the most tense that Angela had ever experienced in her life. For a solid minute, they just stared at each other. The only sounds in the room were Angela’s breaths. She’d seemingly forgotten why she was there in the first place.

Before she could manage enough cognition to ask questions, Amélie got up from the examination table, standing in front of Angela. Her hazel gaze was so intense, Angela thought it might burn right through her.

“Am-”

Amélie took a step, and in a split second, she had caught Angela’s face in both of her hands, and was kissing her. Angela nearly shrieked with the surprise and took two steps back, but Amélie followed, her lips relentless.

A dormant fire was re-ignited inside Angela. Amélie was there - she was _really there_ , and she was holding her with an iron-like grip and ravaging her with her lips, and intoxicating her with her taste, her perfume. For a moment, Angela forgot everything. Forgot where she was, hell, even _who_ she was. For a moment she wasn’t strong enough to manage anything but surrender to Amélie’s onslaught, groaning and desperately seeking her soft skin with her hands.

Magical as the moment was, it didn’t last. Eventually Angela’s rationality returned to her. And eventually she realized exactly what she was doing.

“What the _FUCK--!”_ she shouted, pushing Amélie off of her. She stared at her, indignant.

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?!”

“Satisfying a craving,” Amélie said, her tone far too nonchalant for what she was saying. _What in the actual--_

Angela wiped her mouth with the back of her lab coat sleeve, a futile attempt to remove the taste of Amélie from it.

“You knew,” she spat. “You _knew_ that I was a member of Overwatch.”

“Of course I didn’t, you fool. Gérard never mentioned the name of a single person that works with him,” Amélie countered, matching Angela’s sudden anger with her own. “In fact, he doesn’t tell me shit about his job. Ever.”

“To protect you! The more you know, the more danger-”  
  
“Oh, shut up. Spare me that lecture. As if I haven’t already heard it more than a thousand times.”

They stood in front of each other, fuming. Angela despised being told to shut up, no matter whose mouth the words came from. She was beside herself with disbelief. Amélie was angry at _her?_ She was the one who had just jumped her in the middle of the medbay. She was the one who had-

“You’re not feeling sick, are you?”

Amélie’s lips curled into the tiniest smirk. “No. Not from my stomach, anyway. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you.”

Angela’s jaw nearly dropped. “You… How can you do that? How can you be so shameless?”

Amélie shot her a glare so profound that Angela briefly thought that she looked like a villain from a fantasy film.

“You have some nerve, calling me shameless. I may have started the kiss, but you continued it. In fact, you were the one trying to bury your tongue in my mouth. You shared all of those messages with me, even knowing full well that I was married.”

Angela was rendered speechless. Her shock was too great. Amélie took a small step closer to her. “It never clicked for me before, but it did when Gérard introduced you to me this morning. Angela Ziegler, Overwatch’s very own angel. Perhaps you are not so angelic as you make yourself out to be to the public, hm?”

Angela clenched her fists with such strength, she could feel her nails digging into the skin of her palm, surely leaving marks. The worst part of hearing Amélie’s callous words was that they were absolutely true. She was shameless. Selfish. Morally corrupt in virtually every sense of the phrase. She was no angel and had never been. She had continued to want Amélie, even when she knew how wrong it was. Did it truly make that much of a difference that her husband was Gérard and not a random, unknown man? Would it have been any better if it was someone she’d never heard of?

Amélie came closer yet. She slowly reached out to touch Angela’s cheek, and Angela nearly trembled.

“This is who I am, _chérie_. You think that you know people, but you do not. Not me, certainly not Gérard. That is the most valuable lesson my parents taught me. Never assume that you know someone.” She caressed her with a featherlight touch. “They will prove you wrong every time.”

Angela caught Amélie’s hand with one of her own. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t change the facts.”

“And what facts are those?”

“That this is wrong. All of this,” she vaguely gestured with her free hand, “is wrong.”

“Well, of course it is. And yet you want it. You cannot hide it from me, Angela.”

Angela bit her lip. She pushed Amélie away.

“Of course I do. Fuck, I mean, look at you. I’m only human. But I need to have some semblance of self control.”

“Mm.” Amélie looked around the room. “Take me to your office. This place is too much like a hospital, it’s bothering me.”

“Fine.”

Angela held her breath nearly the entire time as she led Amélie through the halls of the Watchpoint towards her office. They didn’t pass anyone of consequence, thank god. They must have all either been busy or in bed. She sighed with relief when Amélie stepped inside, and she closed the door behind her.

Amélie glanced around her, taking in the room. “This is very like you,” she noted.

“You don’t even know what’s like me and what isn’t.”

Amélie sighed, then turned to face Angela.

“You know that we can’t do this,” Angela said, getting it out before Amélie could say anything that would make her blood boil yet again.

“It isn’t up to you to decide what I can and can’t do. You can only do that for yourself. You, can’t do this.”

“And you can?”

“I already have, haven’t I?”

The implications of her words were loud and clear. Angela averted her gaze. There were too many conflicting emotions. _“Verdammt...”_

She turned, walking towards the mini fridge to get herself some water. Her throat was utterly dry.

“Would you like anything?”

“Water, please.”

She grabbed a bottle for each of them, and handed one to Amélie. Despite her best effort, she couldn’t help but watch, and be entranced by, Amélie lips curling against the opening.

“You’re staring,” Amélie accused. Angela rolled her eyes. She tried to look elsewhere so that she could finish her bottle.

Angela slumped onto her couch. She rubbed her eyes, attempting to regain control of herself. She still could not quite wrap her mind around what was happening. Amélie watched her from where she was standing.

“It’s so strange, you know… To see this place. To know that this is where you were when we exchanged all of those messages,” she mused.

“This and other places,” Angela said.

Despite having no invitation, Amélie gracefully sat down on the couch beside Angela, facing her. “Angela… It’s clear that we have both been caught off guard by this. I don’t think anything could have prepared either of us for it.”

Angela listened in silence.

“I would not have expected this in my wildest dreams, and yet… Here you are, in front of me again.” She slowly reached for Angela’s face again. To both of their surprises, Angela let her.

“I spent so long longing for you. Dreaming of the day when I could see you again.” She paused, wetting her lips. “I will not pretend to be anything other than what I am. And what I am is someone who has empty for a very, very long time. You are the only thing that has ever begun to fulfill that void.”

Amélie’s words were profound, and they spoke of something far beyond sexual desire. Angela was taken aback by how much she suddenly related to the feeling. It was clearer than ever that Amélie had become something to Angela, something more than she had let herself admit until now, but still could not put a name on.

Amélie inched closer. Her gaze caught Angela’s and held it like it had an invisible grip of its own. “My sweet Angela. I will not ask you for anything you are not willing to give. But I ache for you now more than ever, and to pretend otherwise is useless.”

There it was again. That hotness in Angela’s stomach. That sensation of fire coursing through her veins. Her heart raced in her chest. She needed to make a decision now. Amélie had put her on the edge of a cliff again, and she needed to either walk to safety, or take the plunge.

She took Amélie’s hand, and watched as their fingers intertwined. Amélie’s hand was so soft, just like she remembered. Her long fingers so graceful, even in the slightest of movements. It made her sense of righteousness burn to the ground - whatever much of it was left.

There was nothing to decide. Amélie had already made the decision for her.

She took Amélie by the wrist and pulled her over, so that Amélie straddled her on the couch. She placed a hand at Amélie’s waist and another at her cheek, gazing into her eyes. Into deep, hazel eyes that were dark with desire.

“What in the world brought you to me?” she whispered.

“Once I find out, I will thank them,” Amélie answered, and then dove down to catch Angela’s lips with hers.

This time there was not a single moment of hesitation. Angela willingly parted her lips, letting her kiss her deeply, ravenously. Both of them moaned as their tongues wind together, as their hands clutched each other’s bodies. Amélie was rough, greedy, biting and sucking at Angela’s tongue. Angela’s head was spinning.

Amélie didn’t seem to want to waste any time, thank god. She pushed Angela down so that she was laying on the couch underneath her. This was really happening. She was on the couch in her office, and Amélie was _here_. Here on top of her, kissing her, touching her. Amélie harshly separated their lips so they could catch some air, then took the chance to pull Angela’s lab coat down and off of her upper body. Her sweater and bra followed, and then her breasts were beautifully bare for her, just like they had been on the night when they first met.

Angela gasped as Amélie dove in again, pressing biting kisses to her neck and grasping her breasts in her hands. It felt good, deliciously good, but it only made her want more. It had been so long since she last felt anything like it. She craved that harsh touch. She trembled when Amélie bit at her neck, and squeezed her nipple with her fingers at the same time.

“Fuck,” she moaned. “Fuck.”

Her hands clumsily reached for Amélie’s blouse, trying to pull it up and off of her. She grew frustrated when she was unable to do so given Amélie’s preoccupation with ravaging her neck.

“Please,” she pleaded. “I want this off.”

Amélie grinned, pulling away from Angela in order to rid herself of her blouse and bra. She had barely tossed them to the ground when Angela hooked a hand around her neck and pulled her in for another searing kiss, this time with their naked chests smoothing together. They moaned into each other’s mouths, moving their bodies so that their stiff nipples touched, over and over.

Angela’s entire body burned with need. Having Amélie’s chest against hers like that, her mouth on hers - it was good but she needed _more._

“Amélie,” she gasped, almost breathless. “Amélie, hang on a moment-”

Amélie stopped immediately, looking quizzically at Angela’s face. “Hmm?”

Angela gently pushed her off, willing function back into her limbs so that she could stand up. “I need you to stand too,” she said. Amélie did, curious as to why she was being asked this. Angela seemed to fumble with something on the side of the couch, and then a click was heard. There was a whirring sound as various parts moved, and what was once a couch quickly turned into a futon.

Amélie couldn’t help but laugh. “Is this supposed to be a bed?”

“Shut up. It’s for when I’m too tired to walk to my sleeping quarters. Now come back here, please.”

Amélie hurriedly stepped into her arms, and they were kissing again. Angela let herself fall back onto the futon, pulling Amélie with her. They made out furiously, their clothed legs wrapping around each other’s bodies, their hips moving to grind against the other. Amélie’s fingers weaved into Angela’s ponytail, pulling at it to maneuver her head through their kiss. It hurt just enough for it to send jolts of electricity right to Angela’s core.

 _“M-mmm,_ ” Angela whined into Amélie’s mouth. One her hands ran down Amélie’s hard abdomen, fumbling with the top button of her tight jeans. Amélie kept kissing her as she used both hands to undo the button, and pull down the zipper - then hesitantly broke their kiss so the could take them off of her. She leaned forward to do the same to Angela’s leggings. Angela couldn’t wait another second. She slipped a hand underneath Amélie’s silk panties, and suppressed a moan when she met her abundant wetness.

 _“Angela,”_ Amélie breathed, thrusting her hips against Angela’s fingers. She gyrated them with all the practiced grace of a dancer, guiding those fingers to where exactly they needed to touch.

“Fuck!” Angela suddenly shouted. She’d been so occupied kissing and touching Amélie, she hadn’t even noticed Amélie slip her fingers inside her own panties. She, too, was utterly wet, her clit absolutely aching for attention. It was- overwhelming. She shook a bit, and Amélie stopped her movements.

“Are you-”

“I’m sorry, it’s just. It had been too long. It feels too good. I don’t want to-- not yet.”

Amélie smirked, but before she could make a teasing remark, Angela kissed her again, slow and deep, then pulled away. She kissed Amélie’s neck, her jaw, then licked a long line up the shell of Amélie’s ear. Amélie shivered underneath her. “I want to taste you,” she whispered, sensual and quiet.

Amélie groaned, laying back on the opposite side of the futon, propping herself up on her elbows and watching Angela with a hungry gaze. Angela crawled forward, almost like she was hypnotized. She peeled Amélie’s panties off of her, marveling at the clear line of her slick that came along with them. She placed them on the floor, then treated herself to the absolutely glorious sight of Amélie laying on her futon, naked, her legs spread and lips wet and ready for her. She bit her lip hard.

Where under differences she would have liked to tease, to draw out the moment, now she couldn’t wait. She held Amélie’s hips and pulled her against her mouth. Amélie gasped with pleasure, writhing and thrusting into Angela. Fuck, she had missed the taste of her so much. She feasted on her, drawing long lines over lips with her tongue and then pushing inside.

“Oh god. Angela. _Angela,”_ Amélie was moaning. Angela fucked her with her tongue just enough to make her desperate, until she was pulling at her hair and holding her head between her legs. She switched motions, instead licking and sucking at Amélie’s swollen clit.

“I can’t- I’m- _Angela,_ I’m going to--!”

Nothing was more beautiful, more fulfilling, more utterly life changing than Amélie shouting her name, clutching her hair and squeezing her head between her thighs in the throes of orgasm. Angela could’ve almost come along with her, just from the exhilaration of the moment. She let Amélie ride it out before finally pulling away to catch her breath, her mouth and chin coated with her slick.

Both of them laid there for a moment, panting, gathering their wits back. Amélie then grabbed Angela, and gently pulled her on top of her. They kissed again, and she tasted her own pleasure on Angela’s lips, on her tongue. This time the kiss was languid, blissful, but still so very wet. Angela moaned as she felt Amélie stroke her through the cotton of her panties.

“Amélie, I-”

“Hush,” Amélie interrupted. “I need to fuck you.”

Amélie let her hands wander down Angela’s body, earning a sweet sigh as she passed Angela’s breasts - spending just a moment longer on her pert nipples - towards her core. She pressed her fingers against her lips. “Take these off, _chérie_.”

Angela did, nearly losing her balance with how hurried how movements were. She laid on top of Amélie again, kissed her again. When she felt fingers caress her, barely smooth over her aching clit, she whined.

“Amélie-”

“I spent so long dreaming about this, Angela. So long.” She pushed in a finger, and Angela was so wet and ready, it slid easily inside. Angela groaned.

“I stayed up long hours… imagining what it would be like when I felt this again, felt your sweet cunt wrapping around my fingers again.”

  
She pushed a second finger in. It, too, felt almost no resistance as Angela swallowed it up. Amélie’s words, the sensation of finally having something other than her own fingers fill her up again… it was driving her absolutely insane.

“Amélie, please, I need--”

“Mm, I know, Angela. I know.”

She moved her fingers, thrust them, brought them just near her entrance and then buried them in again. Angela saw stars. It was so much, and yet somehow she wanted more.

Amélie seemed to be able to read her mind. Without hesitation, she thrust a third finger into Angela, and repositioned her hand so that she could press her thumb into her clit as she fucked her. And fuck her she did - fast and hard, just like Angela wanted. The pleasure was so overwhelming that before Angela knew it, there were tears escaping her eyes.

“Fuck your cunt feels good around my fingers. You’re so good, Angela,” Amélie coaxed, overpowering her with her words just as much as with her body.

“Fuck, god, fuck. Amélie. Fuck-”

Without thinking, Angela leaned up and caught Amélie’s lips again. She kissed her as she was fucked, and it was harsh and sloppy and only when the pressure threatened to burst did she pull away. She shut her eyes and clutched onto Amélie’s shoulders, letting out a long shout of ecstasy as a powerful, overwhelming climax shook her. Amélie fucked her through it, until Angela collapsed on top of her, shaking.

Amélie held her as aftershocks ran through her veins. She gently kissed her forehead once, twice. She was being so soft now, so tender. Such a contrast from that woman who had exchanged such angry words with her, who had seemed so unfeeling, and who then fucked her so rough. Though, she realized, she liked harsh Amélie just as much as she did gentle Amélie. She liked her always.

She turned slowly, gently kissed her lips.

“Satisfied?” Amélie asked, teasing as ever.

“For now,” Angela answered. Yes. For now, she was. But what would happen when Amélie left this room? When she left the Watchpoint to go back to Paris?

She didn’t want to think of it. Not now. She refused to.

They laid quietly for a while, and were almost falling asleep, when her holopad suddenly and loudly rang from where it sat on her desk.

  
“Shit.”

Angela reacted immediately, pulling her body off of Amélie’s to dash towards her desk. She must have looked pretty stupid doing so, utterly naked. She looked at the name on the screen and felt her blood immediately go cold. Fuck.

“Lieutenant Lacroix.”

“Doctor Ziegler, hello. Fuck I’m so sorry. We only just finished the meeting. Do you know where Amélie is? She won’t answer her phone-”

“She’s with me,” Angela interrupted. For the upteenth time that day, she felt her heart twist inside her chest. “I gave her nanos and some tea for her stomach and brought her to my office. She’s on my couch reading a book.”

Gérard audibly sighed with relief. “Thank god. You truly are a lifesaver, Angela.”

Angela swallowed hard. “Don’t be silly, Lieutenant. I’m just doing my job.”

“Alright, well, just hold her there for a few more minutes, alright? We’re going to wrap up everything around here and I’ll come by to pick her up.”

“Alright. You- you don’t need to rush. She’s perfectly fine.”

“You don’t know her, Doc. She’s probably angry and impatient. But I’ll be there soon, alright?”

He ended the call.

Angela turned slowly, almost afraid to look at Amélie’s expression. Though, once she did, Amélie hardly seemed phazed at all. She had her clothes in her hands.

“Is… Is there a bathroom?”

“Ah- yes, of course. There’s a shower too, but it’s small. You probably have time to clean up a bit until he gets here. He says he’ll wrap up things down there, and then be here for you in a few minutes.”

Amélie nodded. She came towards Angela, and gave her a brief kiss on the lips. “Thank you.”

She entered the bathroom, and Angela took a step back, supporting herself on her desk so that she wouldn’t fall over. Now that all the feel-good hormones were gone, all that she could feel was dread. Christ, she had seriously told the man “yep, don’t worry, everything’s great around here, no need to rush,” right after she’d been fucked silly by his wife. She truly could not fathom how it was that Amélie could remain so composed. Did she really feel no love for that man? No remorse for going behind his back? She'd only dropped subtle hints that her marriage might not be the ocean of roses that Gérard always made it out to be, but what did she know? Amélie was right, earlier. One shouldn’t assume they know anyone else.

Angela got dressed, using feminine hygiene wipes in lieu of water to clean up, since Amélie was using the only bathroom. She almost laughed at how convenient it was that she just happened to have those in her office the very night that she ended up having sex there. She used her holopad’s camera as a mirror to re-do her ponytail, and generally try her best to disguise the just-fucked look. If this was happening to a character on an old reality television series, she would be cackling.

Amélie emerged from the bathroom soon after. She was certainly good at disguising that she’d just had sex. Aside from some makeup that was no longer there, and a slightly wrinkled blouse, she didn’t look much different from how she had when she arrived here earlier. Beautiful.

Angela bit her lip again as Amélie approached her.

“Amélie, I-”

“Hush.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “I know you are beating yourself up, but please don’t. I started all of this.”

“But I continued it. You told me as much earlier.”

Amélie touched her cheek. “Angela. I’m only going to be here for a few days. I don’t want you to spend them hating yourself.” She kissed her gently. “Please.”

Angela’s heart raced at the implication. She was really saying that. That they were going to continue sleeping together as long as she was here. Fuck.

“I… We’re going to need to talk about this,” she said, hesitant. Amélie seemed to be about to respond when the bell to the office sounded. A hologram of Gérard manifested over her holopad. She sighed.

Amélie stole one more kiss. “Look busy,” she said. Angela knew exactly what she meant.  


* * *

 

Gérard thanked her far too many times before leaving her office with Amélie. By the last time he did, she was about ready to slam the door in his face, even if it was no fault of his. Amélie had cordially told her, “thank you for babysitting me, Doctor Ziegler. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” Angela told her that of course not, it was no trouble at all. And then they left.

The thought of what it was going to be like once they reached Gérard’s quarters made bile threaten to rise up her throat. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She checked the time. Almost three in the morning. There was no decision to be made there. She grabbed her holopad and went back to her own room, took a sleeping pill, and flopped onto her bed, physically and emotionally exhausted. She would deal with whatever consequences would come of this in the morning.

Amélie, on her part, remained mostly composed. She lied about asking Angela about her research and not understanding a single thing of what the answer had been. Gérard seemed ecstatic that she’d enjoyed her day, despite supposedly feeling sick towards the end of it.

When they reached his room, she expected him to immediately embrace and kiss her, but he didn’t. He remained tense, like there was something he needed to say but didn’t know how. Something was up.

“Gérard, what is it?”

“I… The reason why the meeting ran so late is that we got an extremely valuable lead on our most important enemy by a trustworthy confidante. We have a chance to hit them, but it has to be now. I’m leaving in the morning along with a strike team. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” He seemed devastated to have to tell her.

Amélie sighed, cradling his face with her hands. “Gérard, I understand. It’s not as if I expected this to be a vacation for us. I know you’ll do what you must.”

He covered a hand of hers with his. “It… If this goes well… It will be a major, major victory. But it needs to be absolutely perfect. I have no time to rest. I need to prepare.”

Amélie frowned for a moment, but then leaned in and kissed him deeply. He returned it, wrapping his strong arms around her waist. “Just promise me you’ll return to me. Safe and in one piece.”

He took her hand and kissed the top of it. “I promise, my love. As soon as I can. And you’ll have plenty of company while I’m gone.”

She smiled a bit. “I know. Your comrades are very nice people.”

He grinned playfully. “Just don’t let Lena charm you too much.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry, _mon cher._ I am immune to her type.”

He kissed her again. “I have to go now. I love you, Amélie.”

“I love you too.”

And then he was gone.

She leaned against the door once he closed it behind him. There it was again, that stabbing-like pain that she always fought against whenever he left. Left to fight for peace while she slept with another woman. She shook her head, quickly searching for thoughts that would counter that one. The ones she always went to.

It was as she had told Angela earlier. She knew who she was.

She changed into a nightgown, grabbed the book she’d brought with her, and laid on the bed. Before opening it, though, she looked at her phone - which she hadn’t done since seeing Angela walking into the medbay. She had several missed calls and messages from Gérard, and one from Angela.

“Good night, Amélie.”

She smiled wide, warmth fluttering in her chest. “Good night, Angela. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> story is nearing its climax. there will be two more chapters and an epilogue - i swear i won't change the chapter count again. thank you for reading, and please stay tuned ♡

**Author's Note:**

> have a suggestion/request, or are interested in commissioning me? shoot me an email at shinycommissions@gmail.com / if you enjoy my work and want to earn my eternal gratitude, please consider buying me a coffee on ko-fi at: ko-fi.com/ShinyMilotics . any amount is hugely appreciated ♡


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